


No Finer Place

by MsJackofAllFandoms



Series: No Better Shoulder, No Finer Place [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Based on events of the film, Close Friendship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunken ranting, Gen, Not Beta Read, Paul Prenter As The Go To Villain, Platonic Cuddling, Slash if you squint, Slightly humouress, drunk Roger, set in the 80s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28049967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsJackofAllFandoms/pseuds/MsJackofAllFandoms
Summary: Sequel to No Better Shoulder.Another drunken night ends up with Brian and Roger sharing a bed. But only after a lot of drunken ranting from Roger. Set in the 80s, inspired by the movie more than real life events.
Relationships: Brian May & Roger Taylor
Series: No Better Shoulder, No Finer Place [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2054646
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	No Finer Place

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the events of the movie, so this takes place a couple of weeks after the other 3 find out about the £2million deal and Freddie swans off to Germany.

It wasn’t the night out they’d wanted, but it was the night out they had got and Roger had made the most of it; drinking before the meal, during, and after, with a tiramisu for pudding. Years of being a partying rockstar meant that it didn’t quite measure up to his usual intake, especially with the good hearty food soaking up some of the alcohol, so he was _just_ drunk enough to be careless about his words, and the volume with which he was saying them, but still a few drinks short of passing out into a drunken stupor. 

_More’s the pity_ , Brian thought. 

Not that Brian wanted his friend to pass out, but… maybe quieten down a bit? 

Roger was sat in the passenger seat of Brian’s car. Brian, only having two drinks throughout the whole night, knew he’d have to monitor Roger’s intake and keep him busy to save him from doing something stupid. He’d only managed half the task, but the night was still relatively young in rockstar terms. And Brian understood. They were both hurt, they were both _worried_ , but where as Brian kept everything inside, kept his worries to just his own thoughts, at most he wrote some songs he’ll never sing or show to anyone; Roger, on the other hand...

Well, Roger only knew to project outwards and was now two and a bit sheets to the wind. They left the new bar and grill restaurant, that they had wanted to try for a while, when the waitress started hovering, giving them tight smiles, pointed looks, and reminding them they just had to ask at the bar for a taxi when they wanted to leave.

 _“It’s no bother,”_ the waitress said, “ _We do it all the time here… Whenever you’re ready to go..._ ”  
  


“I fucking hate Paul!” Roger started agan, his speech slurring. “I mean I really fucking hate him.” His face was red, his eyes were glassy, and he was listing to the side with his cheek up against the headrest of the passenger as he faced Brian to rant in his direction. 

“I know you do, Rog.” Brian clicked the indicator on to turn into Roger’s private driveway. “Hm, we’re heading into your’s now, so, keep it down, yeah? You know how noise travels.” Because even though Roger lived about half a mile from the nearest neighbour, the drummer still had a noise complaint raised against him after he got into a shouting match with an overenthusiastic reporter in his back garden. To be fair to Roger, the photographerhad scared Rory by climbing over the fence to get pictures of them in theliving room. Brian was sure the young girl learnt some choice words she could never repeat that day; but It wouldn’t do Roger any favours if he went inside his house, shouting the odds, and getting another complaint against him. Not when the press are waiting for any excuse to put them on the front of the papers.

“The shit he fills Freddie head with makes me wanna cut his off!” Roger continued, “Or his dick!”

Brian looked at Roger, baffled, “Er, Freddie’s?”

“No! Paul’s! Why would I want to cut Freddie’s dick off?!”

Brian shrugged as he parked the car in the Taylor household gravelled driveway, in the spot Roger saved exclusively for him. “Trophy?”

“What?” Roger asked, then shook his head, and struggled to get out of the car until Brian came around to the passenger seat to help him. “He wouldn’t be happy with me if I did that.” 

Brian agreed with him whilst gently guiding him up the path and the steps to the front door. Luckily he had his own key to let them in, he doubted Roger would find his key in his pockets, the state he was in. He unlocked the door for both of them and ushered Roger in first. Unfortunately, the threshold lip was Roger’s downfall; he tripped over it into the house, and it was only Brian’s quick reflexes which stopped him landing face first on the rug. 

Brian uprighted the drummer and had him lean against the bannister of the stairs whilst he closed the door behind them and sorted the alarm system, before it could reach it’s time limit and go off. 

“He’s a snake!” Roger slurred, “If I get my hands on him- Fucking _Paul_.”

Brian held on to Roger again and tried to steer him into the kitchen. “Yes, he’s awful. Now-”

“‘member when he tried to bribe me? Fucking- such a- fucking _hate_ him.”

If Brian had a penny for every time he’d heard those words in some sort of combination that night, they’d surpass all the royalties that he was due to be paid that year, he was sure. 

“Come on, Roger, let’s get you some water.”

Roger turned to him, suddenly looking much more crestfallen and sad than he had been from the anger which had been pouring out of him all night. “Deaky. We have to see Deaky on Friday.” He said, emphasize his point with some hard pats to the shoulder.

“We will, Roger, we’ll see Deaky tomorrow.”

Brian got Roger to stand by the doorway to the kitchen whilst he turned the lights on. 

WIth something mixed with a scream and a grunt, Roger kicked out, and it was only Roger’s poor eyesight and drunken co-ordination that made him miss the door frame and cause himself an injury. 

Brian could feel his patience and sympathy quickly wearing thin. Roger’s full on tirade had been something to listen to, at least, and agree with, earlier on in the night, but the drunken disjointed stop-start ranting that he had fallen in to over the past hour, probably thanks to that last gin and tonic, was really starting to get on Brian’s nerves. 

_‘And now,’_ Brian groaned internally, _'he was lashing out physically. Fantastic.’_

He turned to Roger, to find him swaying in the kitchen doorway. “You know, Roger. I love you, I do-”

Roger’s face lit up like a kid at christmas. “I love you too!” He took an unsteady step forward, and then pulled up short. “Wait. This a confession?” He said, words still slurring, and then looked at Brian in dismay. “Fuuuuck i’m too drunk for this.” Roger looked down, and then looked up, eyes latching on to a tall figure by the kitchen window that was definitely not Brian. “Brian. Bri-”

“Roger-”

Roger took a few more steps into the kitchen and reached out to the object in front of him but came short a few feet short of it, on account of the dining table being in the way. “Mate. Brian. I love you.”

“You’re talking to the coat stand.”

Roger reared back and Brian looked on in something like amusement as the other looked around the kitchen for a better Brian-esque shape to talk to. 

“Where’ve you gone?” Brian gave him a wave and then proceeded to fill a glass up with water. “Oh there! Don’ move around like that.” Roger took another step, and then thought better of it and then held himself up by propping his arm on the kitchen table. “Brian. You’re my best mate. I love you but-”

Brian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He almost wanted Roger to go back to ranting about Paul. “Fuck sake it’s not-”

“I am straight. I’m sorry. You… you are a great man.” Roger said, pointing correctly at Brian, “A great _big_ man. You will make someone-”

Brian marched over towards him with the glass of water and placed it none-too-gently on the table.”It is not a confession of any kind you egotistical prick!” He yanked a chair out from underneath the dining table and pointed to it vehemently, “Sit down. I just meant, I love you but I have heard the same ranting about Paul on a repeated cycle for the past, oh god,” he checked his watch, “ _Six hours,_ and it stopped making sense two hours ago. I’m not sure our friendship will survive more.”

There was a moment where Roger took in what Brian said. “Oh. Okay.” And then, without further reaction, that line of conversation was dropped as a look of pure disgust reappeared on the drunk man’s features. Brian sighed, knowing what was coming.

“That fucking- ‘talent does he even have? He can’t sing! Brian, he can’t even sing!! Even babies can sing!” He looked at Brian as he started listing to the side, “I know, cos I had one. Well, Dom had one. But I helped! I could help Freddie… not with the babies. I mean music.” 

“ _Please_ drink some of your water.”

“Hmm?” Roger looked at the glass of water as if he’d just spotted it, and took a few questioning sips as if water was a brand new concept to him. “Oh this is nice.”

Brian tried not to roll his eyes. “Good. Drink it and then you can go to bed.”

“Bed.” Roger repeated, “ m’knackered…” as quickly as Roger’s head dropped, it shot up again and Brian was worried he was about to hear another short, swearing infested mouthful about Freddie’s once-assistant-now-lover. Then Roger grabbed his face like his jaw was going to fall off. “Shit i’m knackhered and an old man! I’m knackered and I’m _so old_!”

Brian groaned at the sudden change of direction, and wondered how the other man was even sitting up let alone jumping from topic to topc. This was clearly a result of their post-gig drinking life style for a decade, and Brian half envied him for it, because he certainly didn’t jump from topic to topic, mood to mood when he was _this_ drunk.

(He mainly cried and stargazed and asked the stars his deep, philosophical questions about life and the greater universe, and cried some more when they didn’t answer him back. Not that he could remember much of those nights, it was just from what he pieced together after waking up on the conservatory furniture one too many times...)

And now, with Roger moaning with his head in his hands, he wasn’t sure which he preferred, Roger’s abstract ranting about Paul, Roger’s gentle rebuff over a love confession _that he hadn’t actually made_ , or this: The drunken midlife crisis hour. 

Brian had seen this before, after Roger’s 25th and Roger’s 29th, and knew what to expect. Roger would pick at every miniscule flaw that comes from not being an 18 year old anymore, and then cry on Brian’s shoulder, wondering if the fame and fortune was worth the toll on his body; as if being a dentist would have saved him getting tired easier and gaining weight. Usually Roger would then throw up in the nearest receptacle hastily provided by Brian or one of the others… and then wake up the next morning with no memory of the night before. 

(Or so Roger would say.)

Brian had to head it off at the pass, before the whole entire night gave them both headaches. “You’re not old.”

“I am!” Roger insisted, voice sharp and shrill. “M’over 30 now do you know what that means?” He was looking at Brian desperately.

“It means you’re older than you were last year and younger right now than you will be for rest of your life.” Brian said pragmatically,

“I’m older than George was when The Beatles broke up.”

“Oh.” Brian blinked. He hadn’t have been expecting that. “Well. That’s okay, Rog, so am I. So’s Deaky…”

“What am I gonna _doooo_?!” He wailed again, “I’m a washed up rockstar and my best mate’s off fucking the devil _insensate_!” He sobbed dryly, put the glass he had still been holding in his hands down on to the table roughly, then dropped his head on to the table.

Brian laughed suddenly before he could stop himself, and bit his lip to prevent himself from laughing more. It was absolutely not funny.

Roger whipped his head back up. “‘The fuck are you laughing?!”

“Good question seeing as I’m doing all this and i’m apparently not even your best mate.” Brian pointed at the glass, “Drink that! You’re not old, you’re _not_ a washed up rockstar and… Well, I think you mean incarnate-”

Roger made an aborted movement towards the glass before turning to glare at Brian. “Who the fuck did you kill off to make you a dictionary?”

Brian shook his head in wonder. “How are you so eloquent after… “ Brian pointed at the half drunk glass of water, “Would you drink that so you can go to bed, _please_?”

Roger sighed, suddenly deflated from the storm that was brewing inside of him, even breathing normally again after his mid life crisis moment, which was so typically Roger, and he and felt around for the glass before picking it up. “Only cos you asked so nicely.” He murmured mulishly.

Brian sighed and silently vowed to never let Roger get this drunk ever again. And then knew that was a pointless endevour and so vowed to at least leave him with John the next time it happened. Or Dom. Or Crystal. Or Freddie, if the singer ever graced his presence with them again.

On that stinging note, he sat down on the dining chair opposite Roger and encouraged the drummer to drink more of his glass of water.

***

Brian got them to the top of the stairs without much incident, which was largely thanks to the light nestled in the chandelier that lit up the hallway, landing and the stairs. Roger was surprisingly co-ordinated enough to lift his feet up for every step, and Brian had to put that down to sense memory, from the many times Roger must have navigated the stairs in such a drunken state. 

When Brian got them to Roger’s bedroom door, the other man suddenly turned from Brian’s hold. “I need a piss.”

Brian pulled his arms up and backed off completely. “I’m not helping you with that.”

Roger scoffed and navigated by feeling the wall. “I’ve drunk whilst pissed before, Brian.” He said haughtily. 

“Yeah…” Brian couldn’t be bothered correcting him, he knew what Roger meant and was just glad there was a toilet downstairs he could use before leaving for his drive home. 

After Roger shut the door behind himself, Brian announced he was going to get him another glass of water for overnight and also took the opportunity to also use said downstairs toilet. The roads might have been empty for that time of night, but it was still a bit of a drive back home for him.   
  


“Okay, Rog?” Brian said, patting the slumping man on the shoulder. “Roger. Here.” Roger looked up blarily. The trousers and shirt he’d been wearing had been discarded on the floor and he’d put on the the mismatched pyjamas Bran had insisted on pulling out of the wardrobe to put on against the cold chill of the air overnight. The drummer looked more tired now, which Brian was secretly grateful of. “Water on the bedside table. If you’re gonna be sick aim for this,” He held up an unfortunate ceramic bowl that had been deemed too ugly to be a fruit bowl some years ago. “Do you think you’ll remember that?”

Roger nodded “Yeah.”

“Okay. Come on, get in properly and get some sleep.” He helped Roger get in bed but stopped short of tucking him in. “Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day.”

Roger sat back up. “Wait where are you going?”

“Home.” 

Roger looked shocked, even hurt, at the idea. “You’re leaving me too.”

“Wha?” Brian was honestly floored, not anticipating this reaction from Roger. “Of course I’m not _leaving you_ . I’m just- I don’t live here Rog, my house, my _bed_ is the other side of London, and-”

“It could be the other side of me.”

“I… I… oh Rog.” And really, what could Brian say to that? 

Roger just continued looking at him. And when you’re faced with a tired, drunk, upset Roger Taylor, with his big eyes and soft hair framing his face in the dim lamplight… Well Brian had found sometimes over the years that even he was not immune, and this was, clearly, another one of those times.

“Alright.” He sighed, “Alright Roger. I’ll stay.” He kicked toed off his shoes and put them by the dresser table. “See? I’m staying.” Then he took off his jacket and draped it over the bench in front of the dresser table. He untucked his shirt so he could lie down comfortably and got into bed next to Roger. Because that’s what you do sometimes, when your drunken upset best mate asks you to.

 _Well, it was hardly the first time,_ he reminded himself, _so why let it bother him now?_

“You _are_ my best mate, Bri.” Roger said before lying back down and pulling the duvet up to his shoulder. Brian smiled to himself, and did the same.

Brian lost track of time as he stared up at the ceiling. The only way he knew time was passing by and that he was awake for all of it, was the clock on the bedside table ticking away faintly. There was too much going around his head to nod off yet. 

“What if he doesn’t come back?” Roger said, suddenly breaking the silence.

Brian sighed and turned his head to see Roger, also lying on his back. “He will.” 

“What if he doesn’t call?”

Truth was, he’d been worried about these things himself, but he wasn’t going to say that to Roger. “He will.”

Roger practically launched himself onto his side, half sitting up. “What if Paul feeds him more-”

Brian held on to Roger before he started flailing and working himself into a fit like he’d been in most of the night. “Roger. He’s only recording an album, not starting life over in witness protection. He’s only two hours away at most.” Brian sighed, and pushed his hair back for some sort of mental clarity. “You know we all love each other too much for this to really break us. Liike _brothers_ , remember? I’ve been led to believe over the years that sometimes, this is just how it is for a bit. He just needs a few months to put his album together and then he’ll have all the time and space to talk to us. and maybe even see us.”

“But Paul-”

“Paul…” Brian started, and then thought through his words carefully. “ _Is_ a manipulative bastard, yes, but he’s one of many hanging on to Freddie right now and there’s not much we can do about it.” He paused, again, biting his own lip to stave off the emotion building up in him. “Freddie will see him for who he is eventually and until then, we’ll just remind him _we’re here_ too. But right now, he’s in album making mode, that’s all. Now please, just lie back down, close your eyes, and go to sleep, for your own sake if not for mine.”

“Okay.” Roger replied quietly, then complied with Brian’s request, by planting himself face first right onto Brian’s shoulder. Then his arm came around his waist to hug him. 

It wasn’t something they did as a matter of course, cuddling in bed, yet it was similar to one night before, almost ten years ago, and Brian could work with it. He never quite worked out the logistics of how it happened in the first place, with the copious amounts of alcohol he'd drunk that night clouding his memory. It had made him a bit suspicious seen he thought about it but knew there was no real reason to bring it up. It had been what it had been, and not a big deal so he’d taken Roger’s lead and left it at that. 

And even if it wasn’t familiar at all, he would do it anyway, just because that’s just what you did sometimes.

Brian circled his arms around Roger, returning the hug. 

“I’m fuckinpunchin’im when I see him.” Roger slurred into his shoulder. 

“Paul or Freddie?”

“Hm, both.”

“Okay. Sleep now, punch them later.” He rubbed circles on Roger’s back like he would do with an unsettled child… 

_If the shoe fits_ , Brian thought.

He felt Roger get heavier as the alcohol and emotional exhaustion finally took it’s toll. He took a moment to consider his friend laying over half of him like a fussy paperweight that snored, and hoped he too would drift off soon.   
  
And he really, _really_ hoped Roger wasn’t going to throw up on him in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been drunk and I don't tend to hang around drunk people, so I know this isn't the most realistic account of a drunken person, but at least two things in this fic have been inspired by Legitimate Things I Have Seen Drunk People Do/Say.
> 
> Title comes from KT Tunstall's No Better Shoulder.


End file.
